Prepare to be ostracised, all you smokers of England

Smokers of England, lay down your cigarettes. Yes, right away; stub them out. Now take a few deep breaths, to allow your blood to become reoxygenated, and your brain function to be restored.

What I'm about to tell you is very important. It is the story of what is about to happen to you, and the society you inhabit, when the smoking ban in pubs, restaurants and workplaces comes into force on July 1. You'll find some of this story quite unexpected: indeed, I would struggle to believe it myself had I not experienced it in Scotland in the 15 months since the ban was introduced here.

For a start, there will be no rebellion. All those rumblings you're hearing about boycotts of pubs, of unrest and civil strife? Fights over the B&H? Of landlords defying the law? Forget it. Those are but the defiant mutterings of a defeated army, beginning the long retreat from Moscow. There will be no trouble at all. The smokers, meek as lambs, will either stand obediently outside or refrain from smoking.

In Scotland, only one smoker and one business have been taken to court for flouting the ban, and 175 people fined. Indeed, instead of lawlessness and hostility, be prepared for the exact opposite: a widespread and generous welcome for the ban, even among confirmed smokers, and an intangible, unquantifiable uplift in the national mood.

Now, not to put too fine a point on it, we all know what the Scottish psyche can be like: chippy, somewhat negative, a little begrudging in spirit. Against all the odds, the smoking ban has had a positive effect. Scotland, for me, feels like a country that's been to a health farm and come back with a clear complexion, open tubes, and a spring in its step.

How can I pin down why, over such a brief period, this feels like a markedly more modern, fashionable country? Above all, it's the clean air; the removal of constant pollution in our noses wherever we went. Perhaps too, at a less conscious level, it is a sense of self-worth, of freedom from something rather destructive.

And so here's the remarkable thing. In 15 months, the smoking ban has tilted society completely the other way. Where once there was an acceptance of fug, there is intolerance of anything but clean air.

The evidence is that only an embattled minority continues to smoke. From knowing dozens of smokers, I only know two; I go to parties and meetings and meals in people's houses, and no one smokes. No one even considers smoking. Seeing a fellow guest pull out a cigarette would be akin to seeing them openly pick their nose.

So clean is the air now, that being exposed to the smell of cigarettes is a physical shock. I do not exaggerate.

When you pass someone smoking in the street, or meet someone who has just had a cigarette, you recoil at the smell from their clothes and their breath. Incredible to think that we all, as smokers, used to smell like that: and never noticed. We used to kiss each other too! Today, given the sensory shift that has taken place over the past year, it feels quite offensive: an unwelcome whiff from some grim past.

And that, dear smokers, is the great alienation that you face. In the reborn, smoke-free England, prepare to become perceived as a relic. You've been left behind. Worse than that, you must prepare to be regarded as, well . . . ever so slightly down-market.

As you stand outside your pub or your club or your restaurant, or even your friend's dinner party, you will find you have become part of a sad, excluded, sheepish army of no-hopers, the huddled masses who loiter, sucking deeply on their drug of choice.

I'm not being judgmental, you understand; I'm reporting accurately the extraordinary pariah-like situation of those who continue to smoke in Scotland. When it comes to branding yourself as indelibly working-class, smoking has become as bad as being obese. One smoking friend of mine, a lawyer, says she's going to start wearing a shell suit so she doesn't stand out from the crowd.

And it's not just the company smokers that are forced to keep, it's the surroundings. Away from the high streets, where chairs and tables outside have helped create a (long overdue) mood of caf culture, Scotland has sprouted a forest of shabby plastic awnings, scuffed beer gardens with patio heaters, and Perspex shelters that look like bus stops. Littered with fag butts, these are not the places for the fashionable to be seen.

Without protest, these shelters have subsequently been banned at all hospitals. Councils have stopped staff smoking outside offices, depots and schools.

So will snobbery be the unexpected weapon of the antismoking lobby in England? I expect it will. The organisation Ash hopes that four million people, or almost 40 per cent of smokers, will stop because of the ban. When smokers find they must enter the kingdom of chavdom, expect that figure to rise.

It is estimated that more than 46,000 people quit as a result of the smoking ban in Scotland. In some areas, the initial "quit rates" were as high as 69 per cent. A study by the Scottish Executive found seven out of ten people supported the ban and nearly eight in ten believed it a success.

Not everyone is happy, of course. Drink sales have gone down 11 per cent as the locals have stayed away; 35 per cent of pubs have laid off staff. But, dare I say it, the smoking ban has allowed Scotland to inch its way up-market: to become a more civilised and, yes, sophisticated country. May England flourish likewise.